DR3DD
by aaron.e92
Summary: Anderson and Dredd must team up again to face off against a new threat. But they're not the same judge's they were at the end of their last adventure. They may not have what it takes any more. (A sequel to Dredd 2)
1. Chapter 1

PROLOGUE

Even at night, MegaCity one throbbed with humanity. There was no end to the string of seedy bars and clubs that lit the streets with their flashing signs. Or to the packed throngs of people spilling out of them.

The food truck glided through the darkened streets. To the Outsider behind the wheel it seemed as though he were driving through an endless cave, with flickering neon walls and life teeming half-hidden in the shadows. He slowed the food truck to a halt at an intersection.

A couple of street toughs loitered at the corner. One of them jabbed his companion in the side and pointed to the truck. They both swaggered over. The nearest thug peered through the window, getting his first look at the Outsider. His eyes went wide, and he recoiled, as though slapped in the face. He spun around and raced away, leaving his confused companion to follow.

The Outsider grinned. Ordinarily he wouldn't have caused such a reaction. But tonight was different. Tonight he was wearing a judge uniform. The Outsider was amused at the power it granted him. It was a power taken for granted by those who wore the uniform, and never forgotten by those who didn't. And despite the day to day violence of a judge's life, the Outsider knew that the foundation of that power wasn't force. It was an idea: the Law mattered. The Law was necessary for civilization, and civilization was how man was meant to live.

But there was something else the Outsider knew. That civilization teetered eternally on a knife's edge. All it takes is the right push, and the whole thing would come crashing down. His calling was to give that push.

Eventually the Outsider neared his destination. Traffic thinned as he entered the administrative district of this sector. He pulled over and exited the truck.

Before him rose a massive edifice. A building the size of an entire city block, stretching upward like a ponderous curtain of stone. He ascended the stairs. At the front doors a hidden scanner clocked his Judge's badge, and they swung open, inviting him in. He strode through them, ignoring the startled security guard. The lobby was nearly deserted at this hour. He marched straight to the elevator. The row of buttons showed ten levels. He hit the button for the top.

Stepping out from the elevator doors, the Outsider felt like he had entered an alien world. He emerged onto a suspended walkway. Below him was a vast tank stretching out under him like a shallow lake of pea green soup. Algae blooms covered the entire surface. A fogging system activated at intervals, feeding nutrients to the Algae. The fog and green water made the room feel like a primordial ocean.

He made his way along the catwalks, eventually finding a platform labeled 'Nutrient Monitoring Station'. It was a bank of pumps and valves, controlled by a computer system at the far end. Thick plastic tubes fed nutrient-rich fluid into the mixing equipment, and from there the fluid was dispersed into the fogging system.

At the computer was a night shift technician. He idly checked his control readouts, and then yawned. Boredom had set in, and he slouched in his chair as though the weight of his all-night shift were pressing down on his shoulders. He heard the footfalls on the metal walkway. He glanced up, and then quickly snapped to attention.

"What can I do for you, Judge?" His voice carried that faint tremor of nervousness that even law abiding citizens always had when addressing a judge. The Outsider didn't respond. He kept walking forward, onto the platform, and stopping just a few feet from the tech. The Outsider wasn't a large man, but with the uniform he was a towering presence. He stared coldly at the technician.

"Everything all right?" The tech's voice was plaintive. He fidgeted. The judge simply stood there, eerily still. The visor on the judge's helmet stared down at him, giving no clue, simply reflecting his own sweaty face back at him.

The Outsider watched the technician squirm. He kept silent, allowing the tension to mount. He needed the technician compliant. Eager to give answers. Finally, he spoke. "I have a few questions about your system here."

The tech's relief was palpable. He let out a breath he had been unconsciously holding. "Sure. Anything you need to know."

The Outsider cracked a smile.

Later, alone on the platform, the Outsider pulled what looked like a cigarette case from his pocked. He opened it, revealing a row of ten small syringes inside. He pulled out one the syringes, and held it up to the light. He imagined he could see the frenzy of activity suspended in the yellow solution.

Working carefully, he separated one of the plastic feed tubes and pushed the needle into its rubbery membrane. It pierced the tube. He pressed the plunger, injecting the contents of the syringe into the flowing tube.

Leaving the needle in place, he straightened. Nine syringes remained in his case. He snapped the case closed, and headed for the elevator. Once inside, he hit the button for the next floor down.

* * *

CHAPTER 1.

The sun rose over MegaCity One. It couldn't be seen, of course, behind the perpetual haze. It was just a bright spot rising beyond the blanket of smog. Already throngs of people crowed the sidewalks, sliding indifferently past each other.

Muto stood pressed against the wall of a small shop, avoiding the current. In his hand he clutched a plastic cup, fished out of a dumpster, and used as a beggar's cup. He kept it held out, forcing bodies to brush past it. Hundreds passed by, and no one looked at him. In this there was nothing new for Muto. People had avoided looking at him his whole life. He made them uncomfortable. He was a mutant. He had lopsided eyes, and his facial features were disfigured, as though they had been mashed with a mallet. A burn scar covered half his scalp like a tough, shiny patch sewn haphazardly onto his head. He was dressed in rags that hung from his gaunt frame like clothes off a hanger.

A shopkeeper emerged from his store and noticed Muto. He grumbled with annoyance. "Hey pal. Give my door some space."

Muto didn't respond. His eyes remained downcast.

"You hear me?" the shopkeeper's voice raised in anger. "Go beg somewhere else. You're keeping my customers away"

Again, Muto remained unmoving. Had the shopkeeper been a different sort of man he might have thought it strange that Muto hadn't looked up when the door had opened. Or he might have noticed that the ear facing him was little more than a flap of skin. A more observant or compassionate man might have guessed that Muto was deaf. But the shopkeeper wasn't either of those things. He was a busy man, scraping by, and prone to fits of anger. "I said move!" Enraged at being ignored, the shopkeeper stormed over, dug his fists into Muto's shirt, and shoved him out onto the sidewalk. Taken totally by surprise, Muto's legs tangled and tripped, and he spilled onto the pavement.

He glanced up to see the shopkeeper saying something threatening, and then stomped back into his store. Muto picked himself up with the slow weariness of someone who has been shoved many times before. He retrieved his beggar cup and ambled away.

Before long a gang of small children had spotted him. They began to catcall and taunt him, not realizing that he couldn't hear them. They surrounded him and began chanting:

'The bombs come down,'  
'Go underground,'  
'Hide in the darkness  
'and don't make a sound'

'Come up to play,'  
'And what do you find?'  
'The bombs left their  
'mutated children behind.'

They orbited around him, pelting him with refuse, and he continued walking, ignoring them. He knew from experience that eventually the children would lose interest. It didn't occur to him to be angry, or affronted. For him this was simply how life was.

* * *

Anderson was out on the street that morning. Even though she had been suspended for six months, she still found it impossible to sleep in. Instinct drove her out onto the streets, though now she wore civilian clothes and kept her gun hidden under her leather jacket.

She was hungry, and made her way to a fruit stand. She picked up and examined pieces of mushy fruit. The vendor gave her an irritated look. "How many of those are you going to handle before you buy one?" he demanded.

"They're all overripe" Anderson remarked.

The vendor shrugged. "What of it?"

Anderson selected an apple that looked slightly better than its neighbors. "How much?"

"One credit"

Reaching into her pocket she happened to glance across the street. She saw a commotion. It looked like a group of school children dancing around in a circle. Then she saw the man they were tormenting. A mutant. He was walking patiently on, ignoring the children. As though he sensed her scrutiny, the mutant turned to her, and for a moment their eyes locked.

The vendor became impatient. "One credit! You want it or not?"

She turned her attention back to the vendor, digging a credit out and slapping it out into his beefy palm.

* * *

The children finally tired of their game, and drifted away, but more serious trouble was coming. Two thugs were headed his way. They were lean and haggard, like wolves during winter. Muto spotted them and tried to slink away into the crowd, but they cornered him against a wall.

"Hold on there" the tall one leered. He gripped Muto's arm. His friend, the bald one, snatched the beggar cup from Muto's hand.

"What do we have here" he taunted. His cruel grin turned sour when he saw the cup was empty. "Nothing" he said in disgust, and tossed the cup away.

"What's that on his hand?" the tall thug pointed. Muto saw baldie's face light up with interest. He tried to hide his hand, but the tall thug grabbed his wrist and pulled it forward.

"Check it out"

Laid across the back of Muto's hand and up along his fingers was an array of small sensors. It looked as though his hand were held together by small rivets.

"Never seen anything like before" the bald thug declared. "They gotta be worth something"

"Hand them over" tall thug demanded. Muto hesitated, and tall thug pulled out a jagged piece of glass with a taped handle from his pocket, and held it up menacingly.

Panicked, Muto tried to shove him away and run, but the tall thug caught his shirt and swung him back. He stabbed his glass 'knife' into Muto's belly. Muto felt searing pain as the knife sliced into him. The tall thug pulled the knife out, and Muto clutched at the wound, stemming the flow of blood. The two thugs ripped the sensors free from his hand. Then they were gone.

Muto sagged backward against the wall. His legs felt rubbery, and he slid to the ground. His abdomen felt like an animal was burrowing inside. Pedestrians flowed around him like water around a rock. Even now they did not acknowledge his existence. Muto closed his eyes, and sat there, resting. In pain. He contemplated not getting up.

He wasn't sure how long it was before he felt a shadow loom over him. He opened his eyes and lifted up his face. Above him was an angel. She was beautiful, surrounded by dawn's light, and looked exactly like the angels that the sisters had described to him when he was a child. He could only stare.

* * *

Anderson stood over the mutant, getting her first good look at him. He seemed dazed, and simply stared up at her. Nearby were the mutant's two assailants. They lay on the pavement, having been knocked unconscious by Anderson, who had seen the mugging from across the street.

Anderson realized that her pistol was still out in her hand. She slipped it back into her holster under her jacket, fumbling a little. The gun felt slightly wrong in her had. She missed her Lawgiver.

"You okay?" she asked. He didn't respond. _He must be in shock_ , she thought. She opened her hand, and held it out toward him. In her palm was a pile of the small sensors that had been taken from him. "I believe these are yours."

His eyes moved from her face to the sensors, and she saw them flood with relief. She held the small pile closer, and he slowly grabbed them, one at a time, and a pressed them against the back of his hand. Anderson was curious. She was unfamiliar with this tech, and she couldn't fathom their purpose. Each sensor adhered to his skin as he put it carefully back in place, and soon he was restored.

He began to move his sensor hand in a series of intricate gestures. Anderson was puzzled for a brief moment, but then a tiny speaker patch attached to his shirt hissed with static and a synthetic voice said, "Thank you".

Anderson now realized what the sensors were for. They were very old tech. These days almost all deaf/mute handicaps were fixed with low-cost implants. Anderson studied him. As near as she could tell, he was young. Late teen, early twenties at most. He obviously lived on the streets. He had probably been abandoned at an early age, like most mutants. She wondered where he had gotten the sensor apparatus and been taught to use it. Examining his ragged, asymmetrical features, she could only imagine the difficulties he had faced.

Muto saw her studying his face, and he turned his head aside, ashamed. He forced himself up onto his feet. He nodded to Anderson, and began shuffling away.

"Wait a minute," Anderson said. Then realized her mistake, and touched him on his shoulder. He turned back to her. "You're hurt."

She gently pried his hands from his stab wound. It was small, but needed attention. "Do you have anywhere to go?"

Muto didn't respond. He didn't have to. She knew the answer. She contemplated for a moment.

"Come with me".

Muto hesitated. "It's okay," she reassured him. "Come with me."

* * *

Anderson and Muto made their way down the grimy hallway of her apartment building. They had to occasionally step over the prone bodies of junkies who were slumped against the walls, or lay on the ground in pools of various types of fluids. One man with rotted teeth made a lethargic grab at her leg, and she kicked his hand away.

At the end of the hall they reached her door. "This one is me," she said, and again realized that he couldn't hear her. She would have to make sure to turn to him and enunciate clearly if she wanted to communicate anything. So far she hadn't needed to. He had followed her without question, like an obedient puppy.

She dug in her pocket for her key.

Muto spotted movement from the mail slot in the door to their right. He saw with alarm a shotgun barrel poke out, and angle up toward them. Anderson laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"It's just me, Charley," she called down toward the mail slot. The barrel swiveled toward Muto, and a child's voice answered from behind the door.

"Everything all right, Miss Anderson?"

"Yeah Charley. He's with me". The barrel retracted.

"Any visitors today?" Anderson asked.

"A couple of druggies tried to break your door in earlier. Nothing I couldn't handle," Charley declared.

Anderson leaned down and slipped several bills through the slot.

Behind the door, Charley eagerly gathered the bills. He skipped across the apartment, past his mother, who sat catatonic in the living room, and reached into a hole in the wall. His small arm barely stretched long enough to recover the can hidden inside. He pulled it out, and stuffed the cash inside.

Anderson led Muto into her apartment. It was slum housing. The paint was peeling, the floor was stained to the point where its original color was pure guesswork, and the walls sagged with age. Anderson kept it reasonably clean, and sparsely furnished. She guided Muto to the couch.

"Sit down." She said, making sure he could see her lips. He complied, lowering himself awkwardly. She motioned for him to stay, and then crossed the room to a squat safe that sat on the floor. She cleared some clutter away from its door, and then opened it. Inside was her judge's uniform, neatly folded. She reached past it and pulled out her field medkit.

She brought the medkit back to the couch. Muto watched every move she made with wide eyes.

"Just relax. Lie back," she instructed. She reached into her kit and pulled out a pair of medical scissors. With sure hands, she quickly cut the shirt away around his wound. Muto looked on the verge of protesting, but remained compliant. With this shirt gone Anderson could now see his exposed torso, with clearly defined ribs jutting from his emaciated body. She turned quickly away, before he could see her expression of pity. She was sure he would misinterpret it. She dug into her medkit, taking a moment to steady herself, and then focused on the task at hand.

Muto remained still as she cleaned the wound. Before she put the bandage in place she gently applied a clear gel, and for Muto the pain receded to a dull ache.

When she finished, she went to the kitchen and filled a glass of water. She mixed a packet of nutrient powder into the glass and then handed it to him. "Drink this."

He gulped it down. She took the glass when he was finished and set it down. He was looking at her with an expression she couldn't fathom. He came to some decision. Moving painfully, he reached down and took off one of his raggedy shoes. He reached inside and pulled out a single coin. He held it out to her.

Anderson was caught off guard. She shook her head. "No. You keep it," she insisted. She took his hand, and closed his fingers back around the coin. Muto looked confused.

"What's your name?" Anderson asked.

Muto weaved his fingers, and once again the synthetic voice spoke. "Muto."

"Is that your real name?"

"It's what they called me."

"Your parents?" She tried to image parents who would name their child such a thing.

"No," he answered. "The children called me that. When I was young."

"And your mother?" she asked.

Muto shrugged.

Anderson decided to try a different tack. "How long have you lived on the streets?"

Muto shrugged again, and Anderson chose to drop it. It was clear that he had been on his own since childhood. Who know how long it had been since he had had a roof over his head. "Why don't you lie down and rest. You need to heal." Muto hesitated, but she held his eyes until he nodded assent. "Good," she gave him a smile. She picked up the empty glass she'd set down earlier and headed toward the kitchen.

She only made it a few steps before a sudden explosive pain filled her head. The glass slipped from her nerveless fingers and crashed to the floor. _Oh no,_ she thought. She knew she was due, and she willed it to stop. But she knew that resisting it was useless. The light around her intensified white hot, and a searing pain throbbing just behind her eyeballs. The sounds of the apartment distorted. She stumbled toward the wall, barely able to keep her feet.

Muto watched her with wide, terrified eyes. He had no idea what was going on. She lurched and fell against the wall. She pounded her fist against the wall with rapidly fading strength.

"Charley!" she cried. "Charley!" She pounded weakly a few more times and then collapsed.

A moment later Charley burst through the door. Her body was jerking uncontrollably, Her head banging against the floor. Charley rushed to the couch, grabbed a pillow, and slipped in under her head. Muto stood behind him.

"What is happening? Should we hold her down?" Muto's synthetic voice asked. Charley shook his head.

"No. Just let her ride it out." He said. He turned to look at Muto, and couldn't help but stare at his deformed and monstrous head. But the thrashing from Anderson brought his attention back to her. He hurried to the kitchen and ran water over a cloth. He returned and laid the wet cloth tenderly on her forehead.

Slowly the seizure subsided. A stillness settled over the apartment. Charley carefully checked her arms and legs for broken bones. She seemed fine. "Help me get her on the couch," he said, grabbing one of her arms. Muto didn't respond. "Hey!" he jabbed Muto's shoulder, startling him. "Let's get her on the couch."

Charley took her arms and tried to drag her, but Muto gently pushed him aside. He leaned down and lifted Anderson himself. He laid her on the couch, and then stepped back. Charley sat down beside her unconscious body and took her hand in his.

"Is she going to be okay?" Muto asked. Charley looked at Muto, taking in his odd method of communication.

"Yeah, I think so," he answered.

"What happened?"

Charley shrugged. "She has these seizures sometimes." He noted Muto's stricken expression. "It's okay to be scared," he assured Muto. "I was scared the first time I saw it."

Muto looked down at her, posed so peacefully now. His heart was still pounding in his chest. It had happened so suddenly. "Is she sick?" he asked. "Is that what causes them?"

Charley shook his head. "I don't think she's sick. But look at this…" he leaned toward her and brushed some of her hair aside. They both peered at the circular, dime-sized scar on her forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Dereck Castillo arrived for work at the Food Logistics building early, as usual. He enjoyed the relative peace of an almost empty lobby. He walked to the elevator, and rode up alone to the tenth floor.

He emerged from the elevator and made his way along the catwalk to the 'Nutrient Monitoring Station'. The night shift tech wasn't there, but Dereck didn't find that particularly odd. He was probably out over the grow beds somewhere.

The first thing out of place that he noticed was the empty syringe still sticking out of the plastic feed tubes. _What the hell_ , he thought. He bent down to examine it, perplexed. What had the night shift tech been up to? He straightened and headed for the computer console to check the logs. His unease turned to real alarm when he saw that the console screen was completely black. Turned off! He rushed to the console, and saw the power cord pulled free from its socket. He pressed it back in. He steamed as he waited for the console to reboot. The night shift tech had seriously breached protocol. He couldn't let something this big slide. He would have to report this.

The system completed booting up, and immediately began screeching and flashing a "WARNING: CONTAMINATION PRESENT" message across the screen. "Oh crap," Dereck muttered. An alarm blared across the entire floor. All valves slammed shut and the fogging nozzles dried up.

By now there were several techs out on the catwalk, going about their morning routine. They looked around in puzzlement.

Dereck typed furiously on the monitor, pulling up last night's data, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

In the buildings Control Room the day tech was lounging at his desk when his monitor buzzed at him. He pulled up the information, and then called up the Nutrient Monitoring Station on the tenth floor.

"This is Control. We are reading a contamination warning at your station. What are we dealing with?"

"Uh…hold on," Dereck's voice came over the speaker. After a moment he resumed, "It's definitely biological. Computer's still analyzing for an exact ID".

The Control Room tech scowled. Even the smallest delay brought ire from those above. "What's your estimated down time?"

Dereck's voice came out hesitant. "I don't know. I'm trying to determine the extent of the contamination. It could have gotten into the grow beds".

The Control Room tech sat up in alarm. He typed a few commands into his console and scanned the result. "Negative," he asserted. "We're showing that isolation protocols were followed as soon as the contamination was detected."

"The monitoring system was switched off."

The news stunned the Control Room tech. "What! Why?!"

"I don't know."

"How long was it off?" He gritted his teeth. Someone was going to lose their head over this screw up.

"The last system check was…" the tech could hear typing. "…seven hours ago."

The tech's blood pressure spiked. "Seven hours! With a biological! We could lose the whole batch." The tech drew in a breath, ready to launch into a tirade, but he was interrupted by a buzzing on his monitor. It showed another contamination warning on level 4. A second later another lit on level 8. The tech watched, stunned, as one by one all the floors lit up.

* * *

Dredd swiped through picture after picture on his wrist comm., looking for the man with dreadlocks. It had become his morning routine. He swiped as he stood in line at a food shack, waiting to get a morning cup of synthetic coffee. The others in line shuffled nervously, and cast furtive glances his way.

Grabbing his cup of synth, he took a seat at a nearby table. The patrons sitting at the surrounding tables bolted their breakfast and quietly slipped away, unnerved by his presence.

Dredd was accustomed to this reaction from citizens. He knew he made people uncomfortable. Ignoring them, he continued cycling through the pictures of arrests made the night before, studying each face before moving on. He eventually ran through all of the perps that matched the description he had inputted into his wrist comm. Finding nothing, he closed the file, the familiar twinge of disappointment tugging downward on his stomach. It had been six months since his search began, and each morning ended the same way. His musings were interrupted by an insistent beeping on his comm. His day had begun.

* * *

Dredd pulled up to the Food Logistics building. He'd been directed there on a Priority 1 call. Priority 1 meant directly from headquarters, and so Dredd wasn't entirely surprised to see the Chief Judge's vehicle already parked in front of the building. He parked his lawmaster and headed toward the lobby.

He entered the building, and saw a security guard approaching nervously.

"They're up on the top floor," the guard pointed toward the elevators. Dredd nodded and tried to walk past, but the guard blocked his way. He held out a datapad between them as if it were a shield.

"ID, please". The guard's voice was meek, and he looked like he expected to get assaulted for his trouble, but he was insistent. Dredd pulled off his riding glove, and placed his thumb on the datapad. It read and verified his print. Relieved, the guard stepped aside.

"Thank you," he said.

Dredd gave him a respectful nod and headed for the elevator.

The doors opened on the tenth floor to reveal an army of forensic techs scouring the catwalk. One looked up when Dredd stepped out. He jerked his thumb in the direction of the Nutrient Monitoring Station and said, "The Chief's waiting for you."

On his way there, Dredd passed a group gathered near the edge of the catwalk rails. Several of the techs were actually in the pool below, the water reaching up to their chests. The men below were pulling something out of the water and lifting it up to their comrades above. It was the body of the night shift tech. His body was limp and soggy like a noodle. Even from the catwalk Dredd could see the hand marks around his neck.

Dredd noticed something else. The algae pool below had a large, sickly patch of yellow spreading out along its surface, as if it were being overtaken by a disease.

Dredd arrived at the station, and saw the Chief Judge grilling the head tech of the facility. He could see she was agitated, and Dredd knew it took a lot to make her break her usually calm demeanor.

"You're telling me that the entire crop is affected? For all ten grow beds?" she demanded.

"It looks that way, ma'am," he stammered. He waved his hand toward the yellowing algae. "Sending any of this out would just make people sick."

"How did this spread so fast?"

"Whoever did this used our own system against us," he explained. "The growing pools are designed to provide optimal flourishing conditions for our algae. Unfortunately this also applies to our biological contaminant, which happens to be a particularly nasty strain of Trachnoid locidia." He glanced up at her, as though hoping that this small victory of identifying the biologic would earn points. She remained stone faced. He hastened to add, "We can have the pools emptied and scrubbed by the end of the day."

"Do it," she ordered. She spotted Dredd and gestured. "Come with me."

She got back into the elevator, Dredd in tow, and as it descended she filled him in on the situation.

An unidentified saboteur had gained entrance into the building, managed to contaminate all ten grow beds, and then left without raising any alarms.

At the ground floor they headed toward the Control Room.

"We lost all ten, Dredd," she stated. "That's a full week's food supply for this entire sector. And it gets worse."

"How?"

They arrived at the Control Room, and strode inside. It was surprisingly cramped. One wall was covered completely by monitors showing the status of all the building's systems. A man dressed in a HOJ tech uniform sat comfortably at the room's only desk with his feet up on the console.

On the main monitor footage was playing of the impostor from last night. The Chief Judge pointed to the image. "Here is our perpetrator."

Dredd grunted in surprise. "A judge? Who is he?"

The Chief turned toward the HOJ tech sitting behind the console. "Have you ID'd him yet?"

The tech's name badge read 'Perry'. Perry cleared his throat and stated, "The perp's shield identifies him as Judge Harrington, stationed at this sector. But this guy isn't Harrington."

"Why do you say that?" Dredd asked.

"Here, take a look." Perry rewound the clip that was currently playing to a point where 'Harrington' was walking down the corridor. He typed a command into the computer. The footage slowed to a frame by frame, and a series of reference points appeared overlaying the image.

"I set and measured these reference points myself just a few minutes ago." A summary of the computers analysis was displayed on the corner of the screen. Perry pointed to the data. "First off, his height is wrong. He's shorter than the real Harrington by a good three inches. I also ran an analysis of his gait and mannerisms against existing footage of Harrington, and the computer determined that there were significant divergences. Also, check this out." He manipulated the controls, and the image on the monitor zoomed in toward the perp's back. It kept zooming in until is showed just a small area on the back of his uniform jacket. The image showed three tightly grouped holes in the jacket. Each hole was approx. ¼ inch in diameter.

"Bullet holes," Dredd stated.

"Without a doubt," Perry confirmed. There are three matching holes in the front. The bullets passed right through. Obviously whoever did this ambushed Judge Harrington and used his uniform to gain access."

"Is there anything we can use to identify him on the tapes?" the Chief asked.

"I haven't found anything. But you'll want to see this." Perry fiddled with the controls, pulling up another clip. It showed the impostor walking down another corridor. He stopped, looked directly at the security camera, and gave a sarcastic salute.

"Son of a bitch," the Chief growled.

"He's not done."

The imposter pulled what looked like a pouch from his pocket, dipped his hand inside it, and then scribbled something onto the wall. The angle of the camera didn't allow them to see what it was.

"Where is that?" Dredd demanded.

"Just down the hall and around the corner. It was the last thing he did before he left," Perry replied.

"You take a look at it yet?" the Chief asked.

"Nope. Been waiting for you." Perry stood up and led them out the door.

* * *

"What the hell?" Perry blurted.

The three of them stood, staring at the strange symbol that had been scrawled on the wall in blood. Perry leaned in and scraped a sample, feeding it into his DNA profiler.

"Have either of you seen this symbol before?" the Chief turned to Dredd and Perry. Perry shook his head.

"Me neither," Dredd admitted. "Could be a gang symbol."

"Maybe." Perry said, unconvinced. The symbol had a kind of arcane quality. Especially painted in blood, it seemed to be trying to convey some cryptic meaning.

The DNA profiler chimed. Perry pulled up the results.

"Wanna guess who's blood that is," he challenged.

"Harrington's" Dredd answered.

"Bingo."

The Chief turned to Dredd, he eyes blazing. "I want whoever did this in resyk by the end of the day."

Dredd nodded. "I'll need help."

"Perry will act as your tech support for the duration."

"I mean another gun. Someone to watch my back," Dredd insisted.

"I'll have control assign you a temporary partner," the Chief assured.

"I have someone in mind," Dredd countered.

The Chief paused, realizing what Dredd was saying.

"She's suspended, Dredd."

Dredd shrugged. "You want this done fast? She's our best bet."

The Chief mulled this over. Six months ago Dredd had stormed into her office demanding to know why his partner had been suspended. He had left dissatisfied. Now he was using this opportunity to try to leverage a lifting of the suspension. The Chief weighed the options. There were things Dredd didn't know about his partner's suspension. Things that might make him reconsider. But he was also probably right in his assessment. She might be vital to solving this case quickly. And the Chief could practically feel the council breathing down her neck already. She came to a decision.

"All right, Dredd. It's your call. Just get me results. I need to get back and report this mess to the council." She walked brusquely past him, and out the lobby doors. Her pace was hasty, as though trying to leave behind the dirty feeling that suddenly plagued her.

* * *

Outside the building, Dredd and Perry descended the steps toward the street. "What was the last call Harrington was sent out on?" Dredd asked.

Perry pulled up the information on his datapad. He read aloud, "Harrington checked in with control last night at 11:30. He said he was going to investigate a 320." Dredd nodded. Code 320 meant a report of a dead body. Harrington hadn't been assigned the 320 by control, which meant that a local civilian must have reported it directly to him.

"You have the address?"

"I'm sending you the location now," Perry said, typing a command. A moment later Dredd's wrist comm. dinged with the new information.

"Did Harrington say who reported the body to him?" Dredd asked.

"Nope. You thinking he was killed on that call?"

Dredd ignored his question. "How long will it take you to track down that symbol painted on the wall?"

Perry shrugged. "It's hard to say. For all we know it doesn't mean anything. I'll get started on it as soon as I get back to my lab."

"Then get back to your lab," Dredd ordered, as he mounted his Lawmaster.

Perry's face took on an exaggerated humble expression. "As you wish, master." He bowed deeply with a sarcastic flourish. Dredd bit off the retort that came instinctively to mind. Instead, he gunned his Lawmaster's engine, leaving Perry in a cloud of burned rubber. Perry chuckled as he watched Dredd's receding figure. Judge's were all the same. Ornery, demanding, and no sense of humor.

* * *

Anderson opened her eyes. She was lying on her couch, alone in her apartment. She tried to remember what had happened. A confusion of thoughts and memories jumbled in her head. The mutant. Hadn't she brought him back to her apartment? Slowly the confusion passed, and she remembered the attack.

She sat up, and her head threatened to explode. She pressed her hands gently against her temples, cradling her tender brain. She waited until the storm inside her head waned to a dull headache. Then looked around. She saw no sign of Charley or Muto. Charley had undoubtedly returned to his own apartment. Perhaps he had taken Muto. Or maybe my little fit scared him off, she thought.

Sitting there, feeling sorry for herself, the need hit her with sudden force. She stood with some effort, and shuffled across the room to the safe. Her hand was shaking as it turned the dial. She jerked the door open and reached into the back, spilling her uniform onto the floor. Her fingers found what she was looking for, and her fist closed around it like it was a lifeline. She pulled it out. In her hand was a clear baggie of small white pills. She stared at them with hunger, her craving mounting by the second.

She desperately shook one out onto her palm. _Hypocrite, weakling, pathetic addict_ , a small voice screamed at her from the back of her mind, but it was drowned out by the surge of her heartbeat in her ears. _Just this last one_ , she lied.

And then she noticed her judge uniform crumpled on the floor where it had spilled out. She was suddenly overcome with self-loathing. She wanted to scream. She had lost control of her life, and now it felt like her fate was as predetermined as a doomed cart riding along tracks that ended at a cliff. _I was a judge!_

In a sudden fit of determination she rushed to the bathroom. She ripped the baggie and dumped the contents into the toilet. The pills tumbled down, plopping into the water, and were swept away when she jammed down on the handle.

She stared at the swirling waters in disbelief; shocked, horrified, and relieved all at once by what she had done. And then she realized that in her fist she still held the original pill. It had escaped her attention, and now sat like a stowaway on her palm. She tossed the last pill into the toilet bowl. Or at least she tried to. She willed her hand to move, but it refused. Her body stubbornly resisted this final act needed to set herself free.

A sudden beeping sound from the living room interrupted her struggle. As if on its own, her hand slipped the final pill into a pocket in her bra as she headed out the door to track the noise down. To her surprise it was her judge's wrist comm. She picked it up off the floor and saw a message displayed.

'Medical suspension lifted. Report for duty'.

She read through the terse message, less than thrilled. For a brief moment she considered ignoring the summons, but then she activated her comm.

"Control, this is Anderson. Reporting in."

"One moment…" came the speedy reply. She waited patiently until the voice returned. "Anderson, you've been put on case assignment. Active number 39741. Your senior partner has already been assigned to the case and begun the investigation."

"Understood. Send me his location." _Just like that_ , Anderson mused as she cut the channel. She couldn't fathom what must be happening at headquarters for them to lift her suspension. And their assumption that she would simply come to heel at their snapping fingers irritated her. Yet despite this, she was already picking up her uniform.

Her comm. chimed as control sent her the current location of her assigned partner. Looking at the map, she realized with alarm that he was right outside her building.

"Oh crap."

She threw on her uniform. Hurrying toward the door, she caught her reflection in the mirror and paused. It had been a while since she'd seen this woman. She ran her hand over the bronze shield on her chest. She pulled her lawgiver (it felt so right in her hands), jammed a clip into it, and shoved it back into her holster. Then strode out the door.

Before leaving the building she stopped at Charley's door. She knocked first, but had a key and let herself in. Charley was in his living room, sitting in front of his unresponsive mother. He was feeding her mashed fruit, wiping away the saliva and fruit that escaped her mouth and dribbled down her chin. He looked up as she entered.

"Hey Charley," she greeted him.

His eyes went wide with surprise. "Why are you dressed as a judge, Cass? You feeling okay?"

"I'm good. I stopped by to ask about the boy I was with earlier. Did you see him?"

"You mean Muto? I put him in the shower. That guy was ripe." Charley waved his hand in front of his nose in an exaggerated way.

"Are you okay with him being here?" Anderson asked.

"Yeah, he seems alright."

She nodded. "I've got to go. There's food at my place if you get hungry. And tell Muto he can stay there until I get back."

"So you're not going to tell me about your judge getup?" Charley called after her, but she was already closing the door.

As she marched down the hallway in her uniform the usually indifferent junkies scrambled to their feet, ducking into open doorways or just pressing themselves into the walls, hoping to not be noticed.

Exiting the building she immediately spotted the Judge Car parked at the curb. Anything not rusted or broken down stood out plainly in this dilapidated neighborhood. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, wishing she'd had more time to prepare. She reached the car. She opened the passenger seat and lowered herself into the leather seat without bothering to glance at the driver. She knew who it was. She had known the moment control told her a partner had been assigned.

She eyed the car's interior, admiring its sleek design and numerous gadgets. "New model. Nice." The driver said nothing. She finally turned toward him. "Nice to see you, Dredd."

Dredd eyed the shabby building. "I didn't know you'd moved."

"Yeah. This new place has its charms," she remarked. She reached forward and turned the AC vents toward her, enjoying the cool air. She could feel Dredd pondering the building, as though he wanted to ask her something, but she wasn't ready to answer any private questions.

"So what's the case?" she asked.

Dredd hit a button on the monitor in front of her, and it lit up with the current case file. "You can catch up on the way," he said as he pulled out into traffic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Anderson studied the case file as Dredd drove. She was just finishing up as they arrived at their destination.

"We're here," Dredd announced. She looked up. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Just a trash filled alley between two buildings. Anderson knew from the file that Harrington had placed a call to control at 11:30 the night before about a body reported down that alley. Two hours later someone wearing his uniform strolled into the sector's food supply building and destroyed a week's worth of relief rations.

"This perp doesn't make any sense," she grumbled.

Dredd turned to her. "How so?"

"This guy went from floor to floor, ruining each batch of rations. He didn't panic, or get nervous and quit halfway. He was careful and methodical."

"A professional," Dredd agreed.

"Yeah, so why is a professional waving at the security cam on his way out, and scrawling weird symbols on the wall in blood?"

They both sat in silence for a moment, stumped. Anderson nodded toward the alley. "You think this is where Harrington bought it?" She asked.

Dredd studied the alley. "Good place for an ambush," he observed. "Could be where he was killed."

"So lets check it out," Anderson urged. They got out of the car and walked across the street to the alley.

It was about fifteen feet wide with moldy garbage spilled everywhere. As they entered they had to navigate around unidentifiable rotting mounds of waste, and the concrete was slick under their boots. It was a blind alley, ending in a tall cinderblock wall, and piled against the wall, almost reaching the top, was a slope of garbage.

About halfway down the alley sat a rusty dumpster. And across from it was a recessed doorway. Anderson tried the door, but it was locked. Dredd lifted the lid to the dumpster and peered inside. "Here we are." He motioned Anderson over.

As she approached, the smell hit her. It was putrid and foul, and so strong that it felt like it was coating the inside of her nostrils. Inside the dumpster was a body, still in the early stages of decomposition. I was sunk down into the garbage, so only parts of it were visible, but Anderson could see that it was missing one of its hands. She pointed. "The right hand's been severed. I don't see any other injuries that might indicate the cause of death. Let's get an ID"

She pulled out a DNA profiler and leaned into the dumpster. She reached down into its depths to get the sample, holding her breath against the overpowering odor. One of her hands was holding the lip of the dumpster to keep her steady, and as she leaned further in, the hand slipped on the greasy surface. She would have toppled face-first into the corpse, but Dredd caught her belt and pulled her back out.

Her feet hit the pavement, and she staggered back from the dumpster. "Thanks," she said, a bit out of breath.

"I'll get a sample," Dredd offered, holding his hand out for the DNA profiler.

"No need. I got it," she waved the profiler in the air.

"Is it Harrington?" Dredd asked. The profiler dinged in her hand, and the display read 'No Matching Profile'.

"No, it's not him," she answered. "Or anyone else in the system."

"Let's pull him out."

"Yay."

Working together, they pulled the fetid corpse from its resting place. It hit the ground with a wet, squishy thump.

"Ugh. Thanks for requesting me on this one, Dredd," Anderson quipped.

"What makes you think I requested you?" Dredd challenged, as he leaned down to check the body. He searched its pockets, coming up empty. "No ID on the body. Call for a meat wagon, and let's keep searching."

Anderson nodded, and activated her comm. "Control…"

A faint noise at the back of the alley alerted Dredd. A metallic clicking, followed by a whirring sound. Reacting on instinct, he shoved Anderson as hard as he could into the recessed doorway across the alley. A bullet whizzed by where she had been standing as she sailed across the alley and slammed against the steel door. Dredd dove behind the dumpster as several more shots fired.

The two of them crouched behind their cover, whipping out their pistols.

"Did you see how many there are," Anderson called out.

"It's an automated gun at the end of the alley. It activated when you called control." Dredd answered. He saw her cradling her abdomen. "You're hit?" he asked, the distress not quite hidden in his voice.

"No. I just got the wind knocked out of me." Her ribs ached from her impact with the door. "Better than a bullet I suppose," she conceded.

"Stay put." Dredd instructed. "I'm going to try to get closer." The dumpster sat on four rickety wheels. He pushed tentatively against it and it rolled forward with a squeak. He only got a few feet before a shot rang out, punching a hole clean through the dumpster. Dredd stopped pushing. He was staring at the smoking hole just a foot away when another shot fired, and another hole appeared even closer.

Thinking quickly, Anderson hurriedly stripped her jacket off and waved it out into the alley like a matador. The autogun switched targets, and in the time it took for the jacket to swing out and back three shots fired.

Anderson held up her jacket for Dredd to see. Three holes, right through the center.

"Time for some air support." She determined. She activated her comm. "Anderson to Control…" She waited for the familiar response, but her comm. only spat out static. "Do you read me control?" Again, static.

"The autogun is dampening the signal," Dredd said.

Anderson clicked off her comm. She stared mournfully at her ruined jacket. She'd had it since graduating from the academy. "I'm really not liking this machine," she declared. She could envision the autogun at the far end of the alley, buried in the pile of garbage, waiting for any movement, its reaction mechanism far faster than human reflexes. She settled into a more comfortable position, giving herself time to think. Across the alley Dredd was doing the same. She pulled out a canteen of water and took a satisfied swig.

"Hey Dredd," she called out. "Why did you request me on this case?"

Dredd ignored her question. He pulled out a grenade and prepared to toss it toward the back of the alley.

"Hold on!" Anderson exclaimed. "Let's not remind it that you're over there." She pulled out one of her own grenades. Careful to not expose herself to gunfire, she calculated the angle and tossed it toward the opposite wall, trying to bounce it to its destination. Several shots fired, striking the edge of the recess, spitting fragments of brick at her. A moment later a heavy, concussive BOOM shook the alley. Then several more shots.

"Damn. Missed it," she said, unnecessarily.

Autoguns were built tough. A grenade would have to land close to knock it out of commission, and she wasn't even sure where it was. If she could get a good look down the alley it would help. She tried to think of any reflective surface she might be able to use. Her knife had a polished sheen. _Could work_ , she reasoned. She slid it out of its sheath, and slowly inched the blade out past the edge of the wall. She could see a blurry image of the end of the alley. She angled the knife for a better view, when suddenly, _whang!,_ a bullet stuck it and it went flying. She gritted her teeth in frustration, and clenched her stinging fingers.

"I'm going to pound this thing flat with a sledgehammer," she vowed. She readied her second grenade and tossed it. Again, the return fire after the boom proved that she'd missed it. She was down to her final grenade.

"Hey Dredd," she called to him. "How about before I toss this one you admit that you requested me."

She thought that he was going to refuse, but after a few moments he spoke.

"I requested you," he stated flatly.

"Why?"

"To see if it was true?"

"If what was true?" she asked.

"That you'd washed out," he replied.

His words took her completely by surprise, hitting her like a hard slap. It was a physical shock to hear it from him. She realized that he was watching her carefully, so she steeled herself, trying to hide the pain his words had caused. She ripped the last grenade from her belt and hurled it. BOOM. Again the alley was rattled by the blast, but this time there was no return fire from the autogun. Anderson gripped her jacked and waved it out in the open. No shots.

"It could be a ruse," Dredd cautioned.

She scowled at him, still burning from his earlier comments.

"I think I got it," she snapped, and stepped out of cover.

She couldn't stop herself from flinching, and Dredd popped up, pistol ready. Nothing happened.

As they made their way to the end of the alley, Anderson finally spotted the autogun. It was about ten feet up the mound of garbage, and only the barrel was visible. She saw with alarm that it was moving, tracking them. A high-pitched grinding noise came from behind the barrel. They quickly closed the distance and scrambled up the sodden mound, and were finally able to breathe easy when they were beyond the aim of the barrel.

They cleared the refuse from around the autogun, and saw that the grenade hadn't done much damage. Only a slight bend in the frame was preventing it from feeding bullets into the chamber. Dredd reached inside the frame and switched the gun off. He checked his wrist comm. "Comm's are working again," he observed. Anderson leaned down to examining the innards of the autogun, and acknowledged with a terse nod. Dredd activated his comm. "Dredd to Case Tech."

Perry's nonchalant voice crackled over the speaker. "Yeah, what's up?"

Dredd rankled a bit at his lack of formality. "Where are you on tracking down the symbol?" he asked, as evenly as he could manage.

"I'm going to need more time. If its gang related it's from a group we've never seen before."

"Well we've got something else. It looks like Harrington was killed by an autogun programmed to fire on judges."

"A programmed autogun? Was it still operational when you ran across it?"

"Yes." Dredd replied.

Perry gave a low whistle. "That's a nasty piece of hardware. Congratulations on being alive." His voice carried genuine respect. He continued, "It's not the kind of weapon you can pick up at the local pawn shop. Can you read the serial number?"

Anderson spotted it. "It's right here." She read off a series of numbers and letters in Dredd's comm.

"Who is that?" Perry asked.

"Judge Anderson. Just assigned to the case," Anderson responded.

* * *

In his lab, Perry pulled up Anderson's personnel file, and checked out her academy photo. _Now that's more like it_ , he observed.

* * *

"Well, hello there," Perry greeted, and even through the comm. his salacious tone carried through.

Dredd responded even gruffer than usual. "You've got the symbol, and now a serial number. Find us a lead."

"I'm on it, okay," Perry promised. "I'll call you as soon as I have any—." Dredd cut the transmission.

They searched the alley for additional clues, but came up empty. They returned to the car, with Dredd lugging the powered down autogun. He dumped it into the trunk, and then got into the driver seat. Anderson didn't look up from the case files she was studying.

"You hungry?" Dredd asked.

"No," she stated, her eyes not leaving the monitor.

Dredd hesistated, wanting to say something, but he thought better of it and pulled out into the street. "I know a place nearby we can stop for a bite."

"I said I'm not hungry," she snapped. He wisely didn't respond. He could feel the anger and resentment simmering next to him.

After a few minutes Anderson closed the case file. She was roiling inside, and couldn't concentrate. She turned to Dredd, eyes blazing.

"Washed out?" she spat. "You think I washed out."

"It's what they are saying," Dredd said.

"I don't care what _they_ are saying. _They_ weren't my partner for over a year. You know that I was put on medical suspension."

"You could have fought it," Dredd countered. She barked a dark, ugly laugh.

"Fought it!" All the misery, loss, and indignity of the last six months surged forward, threatening to explode out of her. She forced herself to breathe, to calm down. At last she was able to speak. "You don't know what you're talking about, Dredd. How about you keep your opinions to yourself."

"You asked me why I requested you." Dredd replied after a moment.

"Fine. I did ask. I just wanted to know…what your expectations were." He looked to her, puzzled, and she suddenly felt drained. "I'm not the same partner you had," she mumbled, and turned away, looking out the window.

"What does that mean?"

She shrugged. "Nothing. I'm just a little rusty." She desperately needed to not be talking about this any longer. "Where is that food place you mentioned? I'm starving."

* * *

The Food Distribution Center was a gigantic warehouse with a row of food dispensers along the outside. A crowd of people was gathering for their morning food relief rations. They formed rows in front of each dispenser, spilling out from the sidewalk and into the street, becoming a solid mass of hungry citizens. Each dispenser had a light above it, all currently red.

At precisely 10:30 the light turned green, and the sluggish lines moved forward, one shuffle at a time. But something was wrong. The lights above the dispensers began turning back to red, with only a lucky few having gotten food. The forward movement ground to a halt.

The crowd became restless. "Come on!" "What's the holdup." Angry citizens shouted, while others murmured and wondered if they would be able to eat that day.

* * *

Anderson sat alone at the table in the cramped food shop. Dredd was at the counter, picking up an order. She was already regretting her outburst earlier. Her self-control had slipped drastically since she was a judge. It seemed so much harder to keep it together these days. She was sure that Dredd would bring it up.

He returned to the table, balancing their order in one hand. The other held a Styrofoam cup with a picture of a coffee bean. The bean had arms and legs, and a very excited expression. A word bubble read: 'The Real Thing! 100% Coffee!'

He placed the cup in front of her. "Peace offering," he proffered. She took the cup, and sipped the steaming coffee with relish.

"Thanks." she replied. He plopped their food onto the table, and they settled into silent eating. A television hung behind the counter, and they absently watched the news broadcast.

A news crew was on the scene at the Food Distribution Center. The camera panned over the angry crowd, and then returned to the reporter, who was straightening her bleach-blond hair. Anderson recognized her face, but couldn't quite remember her name. Valerie something. Valerie looked straight into the camera, and struck just the right expression between concern and outrage.

"The scene at this distribution center is one of many throughout the sector. Despite being told that there are no more rations, the crowd is refusing to disperse. A persistent rumor has been circulating that the food bank actually has a full days rations, but for whatever reason is not distributing them," She intoned, and then touched her fingertips to her earpiece as her studio anchor asked her a question about the City Council's response.

Looking around the food shop, Anderson saw most of the patrons engrossed with the coverage. A major food shortage was news to everyone. She was glad that details of the extent of the damage hadn't been leaked yet.

"We'll be lucky to make it though the week without a food riot," Dredd pronounced.

"Do you think that's what our guy wants?" Anderson asked. "To cause chaos in this sector?"

"To what end?" Dredd replied, and Anderson shrugged.

* * *

At the Food Distribution Center, the reporter Valerie made her way through the crowd, film crew in tow, occasionally singling out the more agitated citizens to interview. She stretched her microphone out toward a sullen looking man, and was about to ask him a question when she heard a commotion behind her. Three judges were arriving on their lawmasters. Valerie made a bee-line toward them, glancing back at the camera as she pushed through the crowd.

"Three street judges have just arrived on the scene. I'm heading over now to see if we can get some answers."

The judges dismounted and surveyed the crowd dispassionately. A citizen called out, "Hey judge, help us out. They're holding back food rations in there!" "Yeah judge, help us all out," another hollered. The crowed pleaded for the judges' intervention. Valerie and her camera crew were closing in. Get their shields, she commanded her cameraman, and the camera zoomed in onto their names: Graham, Carr, and Riley. "Judge's," she called out over the din of the crowd, "can you give us any idea what the probl—." She didn't have a chance to finish.

Without saying a word, judge Riley pulled out a pistol and shot the nearest civilian in the head. Pieces of skull and brain matter splashed across the citizens nearby. Valerie screamed, and threw herself to the ground. The crowd erupted in panic like a stampeding herd, as all three judges began shooting into the packed mass.

* * *

At the food shop, all the customers watched in horror as the carnage played out on live TV. "What the hell?" the shop owner gaped at the screen. He turned toward Dredd and Anderson's table, but they were already rushing out the door.

* * *

A/n: If you've read other Dredd fanfic you may recognize the reporter in this chapter. Valerie, the reporter, was based off of a character from the story Bee-Movie, by ThePsiFiles. It is an excellent fanfic which I would encourage any reader to check out. Thanks for reading :) , and like everyone else I do enjoy feedback.


End file.
